


the two of us are really (not) the same

by stevenstamkos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: It’s easy to see who’s doing the talking, some tall blond kid he’s never seen before, giving a short wave to another sort-of blond guy who must be Mitch.If Auston was expecting fireworks, he’s not getting them.It’s what the fuck ever, cause he wasn’t expecting them, okay. It just would’ve been nice if he felt any familiarity when he looked at Mitch, anything about the guy that would screamthis is the guy I’ve been texting for months, the guy I kind of am really into. There’s nothing there though, just a vague sense of disappointment which makes no sense. Mitch is cute. He’s just not like, Auston’s type.





	the two of us are really (not) the same

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Auston meeting a Mitchell over text or through some media platform or just being told about a Mitchell (which would be Marns) but actual, real life, meeting the other Mitchell first???? #confused
> 
> Alternate title: Raven's Actual Dream Come True. This is for you, Raven.
> 
> Title from "Born Again" by Saint Motel, but modified a tiny bit

Auston is like, totally wasted. It’s Tuesday.

Normally, that would be a problem since he has a Wednesday 9 am, except he just finished his last final this morning, and it’s the best fucking time to get absolutely shitfaced to celebrate the end of another semester of hell.

He’s sitting on Dylan’s couch, beer in hand, sort of chatting with Connor McDavid. Auston doesn’t know Connor McDavid that well, but he’s a nice dude, and Auston can deal with that. Nice Canadian boys are a dime a dozen here.

“Is that a Harambe sweater?” Connor asks halfway through his story about the hockey team, and Auston nods.

“It’s cold, man. Dicks out for keeping warm.”

Connor thinks this is fucking hilarious. “Mitch would love that.”

Auston agrees good-naturedly, even though he’s never even heard of Mitch.

“You know what, you’d probably be great friends with him. I’ll give you his number. Lemme—” and Auston watches in bemusement as Connor writes a number on his hand in pen. It takes a few tries since the pen keeps drying out on him.

“Nice,” Auston says when he’s done.

“Text him or something,” Connor says, and then he’s staggering off, hockey story unfinished.

Auston doesn’t have much time to contemplate the number on his hand, because Dylan has decided to take his couch back, and Auston doesn’t want to stick around to watch him make out with Zach. Not like he doesn’t know where _that’s_ leading.

 

 

He wakes up the next morning with a headache and a number written on the back of his hand in blue ink, half-faded. He doesn’t remember who it’s from, but if a cute girl or guy gave him their number last night, he’s not going to turn it down. His phone is still in his pants, which are on the floor, and he digs it out and puts the number in under ‘???’ before falling back asleep.

 

 

It’s not until the first week of vacation that he remembers to text mystery person. He’s back home in Scottsdale, having spent most of the first week sleeping off the sleep debt from the past semester.

There’s that mystery number in his phone though, and in a moment of boredom and curiosity, he opens up a new message and fires off a neutral _hi_

The person on the other end must be playing around on their phone, because the response is immediate. _hi?_ Question mark and all.

 _who’s this?_ Auston sends back, and then feels foolish because he’s the one reaching out. Still, it’s not like he remembers who wrote their number on his hand, so. Gotta suck it up and admit it.

_it’s mitch lol who are you and how did you get my number_

Mitch. Auston doesn’t know a Mitch, though now that he thinks about it, he vaguely remembers there being a Mitch in one of his friends’ friend groups. Zach, maybe? No, Connor. Connor McDavid from the hockey team.

_i think i got ur number from connor mcdavid. he gave it to me at dylan larkin’s party last week_

_oh shit lol yeah davo does that. but who are you dude. you are a dude right bc davo doesn’t just give my number out to girls_

Auston shakes his head, weirdly charmed despite himself. _yeah i’m auston_

 

 

They text each other over winter break, an easy back-and-forth. At first, it happens maybe once a week. As the break goes on though, Auston finds himself turning more and more often to Mitch’s company. He’s a little lonely, okay.

Mitch is fun to talk to, super chill and almost aggressively flirty sometimes.

_hey are you cute bc davo’s taste in men isn’t the best_

Auston considers sending a selfie, but he’s not the best at taking them, and Mitch hasn’t offered him one either. He’s not sure they’re at the point of their friendship where he can ask Mitch for his snapchat.

_yeah i’m ok_

Mitch sends back a series of eye emojis that probably mean exactly what Auston thinks they mean. Before he can think of an answer though, or pursue the topic himself, Mitch has moved on to talking about murdering his teammates at NHL 17.

 

 

By the time they head back to campus for the spring semester, Auston knows that Mitch is from Toronto and plays for the school hockey team, which is a pretty good team in their division. Go Knights. He knows that Mitch likes Skittles and singing in the car, that he won’t eat his vegetables, that he kicks ass at videogames. He knows that Mitch is (probably) single and outgoing and loves to cuddle.

And he has never seen Mitch.

It feels stupid, being a little in love with someone he’s never met, but they’ve talked so much that Auston feels like he must know Mitch now, that when he sees Mitch for the first time, things will just click right away. He’ll see Mitch, and all the bits and pieces of Mitch that he’s uncovered through two months of texting will just become whole.

It won’t be love at first sight, because Auston doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but it’ll be—it’ll be something like pieces falling into place.

 

 

Auston is looking for a seat in Intro to Econometrics when he hears it.

“Yeah well, see you later, Mitch!”

It’s easy to see who’s doing the talking, some tall blond kid he’s never seen before, giving a short wave to another sort-of blond guy who must be Mitch.

If Auston was expecting fireworks, he’s not getting them.

It’s what the fuck ever, cause he wasn’t expecting them, okay. It just would’ve been nice if he felt any familiarity when he looked at Mitch, anything about the guy that would scream _this is the guy I’ve been texting for months, the guy I kind of am really into_. There’s nothing there though, just a vague sense of disappointment which makes no sense. Mitch is cute. He’s just not like, Auston’s type.

He’s just...not what Auston was expecting.

That sounds really unfair though, so Auston takes the empty seat next to him.

“Hey,” he says shortly. “I’m Auston.”

Mitch’s smile is great, it’s a great fucking smile, all blindingly white teeth and round cheeks. Auston searches it, waits for his heart to beat too-fast, but nothing. And Mitch gives no indication that he recognizes him. “I’m Mitchell.”

Okay, so. Mitchell. Not Mitch. Maybe he’s not the one, except…

“You play hockey?” he asks, finally registering the dark green Knights hoodie that Mitchell is wearing. There’s a 67 in white on the shoulder.

Mitchell’s grin widens. “Yeah! You watch us?”

“Little bit. I know a few guys on the team.” Mostly Connor, to be honest. Connor and Mitch-slash-Mitchell, whatever Auston’s supposed to call him.

They make some chill small-talk, though Auston breaks it off when he realizes that Mitchell has no idea who he is. It makes him feel wrong-footed, and he’s not sure whether he should bring up their texts or not. Like, if Mitchell really doesn’t know who he is, that’s fucking awkward. And if he does and he’s pretending not to, that’s also really fucking awkward. Not to mention kind of a dick move.

By the time class is over, he still hasn’t mentioned anything, and Mitchell is saying he’ll see Auston next class and heading out the door.

Which, great job, dude.

 

 

_so do u like mitch or mitchell better_

Auston is closing his books and getting ready for bed when the answer comes.

_mitch usually but sometimes when i don’t like someone i use mitchell for them_

That’s great. That at least answers Auston’s question.

 

 

Here’s the weird thing: Mitchell doesn’t act like he hates Auston.

Mitchell is really, really nice in class. He’s a hard-working guy who’s serious about group projects and procrastinates like crazy but not as much as Auston, which is good for Auston’s grade at least. He is sweet and funny and his smile is nice and he’s shorter than Auston but still solidly built, strong and sturdy. He greets Auston every morning with a smile and a pleasant “Hey,” and his hair is always brushed and when it’s not, it’s cleverly hidden under a snapback. Everything about him screams good Canadian boy.

Mitchell is good and kind and kind of perfect.

It doesn’t explain why Auston feels nothing when he looks at him.

 

 

It also doesn’t explain why Auston still feels like his heart is flipping upside down in his chest whenever he gets a text from him.

 

 

“I can only like him when I can’t see him,” he complains, and Zach laughs like an asshole.

Zach never has these problems. Zach and Dylan just click, like they know what they’re doing, whether it’s going to concerts or studying or bunking with each other. They’re good together, always have been. Michigan boys. It’s probably something in the water.

“That sounds like a problem,” Zach says.

“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just different when we’re in class, you know? Like, he acts all different than I expected he would.” He sounds like an idiot, with all his expectations. He doesn’t even have a right to feel disappointed. “This is stupid.”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“And I still haven’t told him that I’m the one he’s been texting since December.”

Zach looks thoughtful for a while. “So like, maybe meet him outside class or something. You know, talk about stuff other than econ.”

That’s not a bad idea. Get him into the “we’re friends” mode instead of the “we’re classmates” setting. Okay, Auston can do that.

 

 

Auston feels like a bit of a stalker, checking out the hockey team during practice. There’s no rule saying he can’t watch and he’s hardly the only one there, since open practice and all, but. Still feels a little creepy.

“You do realize that there are plenty of people who come to baseball practice to watch you swing a bat around, right?” Zach had pointed out, before he left. “You never thought _that_ was creepy.”

Auston had rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s different this time.”

Everything about Mitchell makes Auston feel irrationally stupid. Except for the part where they’re actually face-to-face. That part he can do just fine.

Baseball practice ends about half an hour before hockey practice does, so Auston heads straight over from the field to the rink. He finds a seat in the stands close to the glass and watches.

A bunch of Knights skate past in front of him, passing a puck back and forth. Auston can see what looks like Connor in the corner, tossing a puck into the air and catching it on the blade of his stick. It takes some searching, but he eventually finds Mitchell doing laps around one of the goals, the 67 large and white on his back.

On a whim, he fumbles out his phone and sends Mitchell a text. _i see u at practice. u look good_

Mitchell won’t see it until he’s heading out, but Auston still feels like he should give a heads up.

The practice itself is long and a bit boring. He knows a little something about hockey, but it seems to just be laps and line rushes today, though at the end of practice they break apart into teams and have a practice match.

Number 93 scores the game winner, and Mitchell high fives him.

“Atta boy, Marns!”

Marns accepts his teammates’ hugs and helmet taps before skating to the bench, right in front of where Auston’s sitting, and Auston watches as he takes a glove off and tucks it under his arm.

“Hey Marns, that was a beaut,” another Knight says, tapping Marns on the ass as he goes by.

Marns leans against the boards and takes his helmet off to run his fingers through his hair. Auston can't see his face that well, but he can see where his hair is dark with sweat. And then Marns turns and flashes a wide smile at Connor, and Auston feels his heart flip.

 

 

When he’s back in his room, he checks his phone. There’s a text from Mitch. (It’s still Mitch in his phone. He hasn’t had the heart to change it to Mitchell yet.)

_omg fuck i didn’t know you were there! come say hi next time_

Next time. That sounds like an invitation.

“Still trying with your guy?” Zach asks, poking his head into Auston’s room on the way to the bathroom.

Auston looks up from his phone. “Yeah.”

 

 

It turns out that Mitchell, along with being a good, kind person in general, is also pretty good at hockey. Auston watches as he handles the puck, his hands sure on his stick, firing shot after shot at the goalie.

Once, he looks up and sees Auston through the glass, and he smiles and waves shortly. Auston waves back.

There are a few other guys at practice who stand out. Captain Connor is obviously really, really good, and even Auston’s untrained eye can pick out how easily he steals the puck from his teammates and goes around them. And Marns. Marns is good too, a bit smaller than most of the other guys but fast and skilled and more energetic than Auston thought was humanly possible.

The coach puts them through skating exercises before letting them rest for a bit. Mitchell skates over during the break, breathing hard.

“Hey, Auston,” he says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Auston could be a total freak and say that he came to see him, but. Total freak. “Uh, just coming to see a friend,” he lies.

“Oh, really? Who?” Mitchell asks, sounding curious.

Before Auston can throw out Connor’s name, there’s the sound of skates scraping the ice as Marns wanders over. “Hey Stephens,” he says. “Chabby’s looking for you.”

“Yeah, I’m coming. It was nice seeing you outside of class, Auston.” Mitchell nods once in goodbye and skates off to go find Chabby or whoever. Auston stares after him for a moment. What kind of fucking name is Chabby.

When he brings his attention back to Marns, the other boy is smiling at him, all wide and friendly. His mouth is a little too big for his face and he is really fucking cute. “So you’re Auston. Hey.”

“Hey. You’re Marns, right?”

Marns nods, and Auston feels himself relax.

“I wasn’t sure if you knew who I was,” Marns says, a little shy.

“I know who you are.”

Marns keeps on smiling. His helmet is tipped back, a few strands of hair poking out from beneath it. There is sweat on his temples and a pink mark on his face where his helmet pressed into it, and he shouldn’t look as attractive as he does.

They talk a little, mostly about school and how the Jays have been doing, and when the coach calls the players back, Marns hesitates.

“I’m glad you came, Auston,” he mumbles.

It’s a little unexpected, a little too honest, and Auston blinks for a second. “I…” he starts, but Marns is already retreating back to center ice.

 

 

The next day, he’s back behind the benches. Mitchell smiles at him and taps the glass.

Marns chats with him again, in between exercises. He still looks devastating when he stops to take a drink from his water bottle, and Auston leaves feeling a bit more confused than he did coming in.

 

 

The semester goes on. Mitchell turns to Auston in class and invites him to a Knights party.

At the party, Mitchell is hanging out with his own group of friends, guys with names like Raddy and Duber and Goat and Barz. They're all nice Canadian boys. Except Barz, who's kind of an asshole. But like, a cool asshole.

Auston makes polite conversation with them, but much like with Mitchell, nothing really clicks.

He ends up getting drunk with Marns and a few of his buddies, and it turns out that Marns is even more fun off the ice. Not that Auston really remembers the details.

When he wakes up the next morning, his phone is dead. He plugs it in and turns it on, and there’s a message from Mitch, sent last night. (It’s still Mitch on his phone, shut up. He’ll get to it eventually.) They still text, at least, even if Auston has started to resign himself to the sort-of friendship they have in class.

 _admit it you had fun tonight_ , Mitchell had sent.

 _yeah but ur friends are weirdos_ , he sends back. This isn’t something he would dream of telling Mitchell to his face, but over text, it sounds okay. Auston can get away with saying shit like this over text.

It takes over an hour for Mitchell to wake up and reply, and Auston has showered and is in the middle of eating breakfast when his phone buzzes.

_your a weirdo!!_

He laughs. It’s cool. Mitchell is still cool.

 

 

He tells himself that he’s still going to Knights practices to check out Mitchell. But he knows himself well enough to know that it’s really for Marns.

 

 

Auston is laying in bed, scrolling lazily through Instagram and leaving comments on his friends’ pictures, when his phone chirps at him. It’s a message from Mitchell.

 _hey we should hang out for real. let’s meet up tomorrow!!!!_ Mitchell had written, four exclamation points.

Auston drops his phone on his face.

He takes a moment to swear and hold his nose, eyes tearing up a bit from the pain, before there’s enough room in his brain for the panic to set in. _sorry can’t_ , he sends back without thinking. And then he panics some more.

“Fuck,” he says again.

“That’s a lot of fucking going on here,” Zach says from the doorway. He is holding a bowl and eating cereal from it. It’s 9 pm.

“Mitchell wants to meet.”

Zach crunches loudly at him before swallowing. “Like, outside of class and the rink, right? It’s not a bad idea. Oh wait, you’re panicking, aren’t you.”

“I’m not panicking,” Auston says, even though he totally is.

“Is it because you don’t want him to realize that you’re not as cool as you pretend? Relax, man. Everyone knows you’re a dork.”

Auston fake-glares at him. “Only you think I’m a dork. Most people actually realize I’m cool.”

Zach almost drops his bowl in the middle of his laughing fit. It’s good that he doesn’t though, because Auston isn’t in the mood for cleaning milk off his floor. “Okay, seriously man,” Zach says when he recovers, “you should talk to him. At least get your feelings out in the open. _In person_ ,” he adds when he sees Auston go for his phone.

Auston huffs a little. “Okay, fine. I’ll think about it.”

 

 

He doesn’t think about it. In fact, Auston does his homework for tomorrow, and then he fools around on Facebook and messages Dylan and starts a conversation about the American national hockey team, all so he doesn’t have to think about telling Mitchell all his horrible heart-fluttery feelings.

Like, what is he supposed to say? _I like you a lot in the dating kind of way but also I’m not sure if I want to date you because you’re nice but I get along better with you when we’re texting than when I actually see you._ Right.

He probably hurt Mitchell’s feelings anyway, because there’s nothing for the rest of the night after Auston shot him down.

Mitchell is already in class when he shows up. There was no hockey practice this morning, but there was baseball, and Auston feels achy and tired and still a little damp from his shower. He’s also mentally exhausted from freaking out last night.

“You look like hell,” Mitchell says in greeting.

“Thanks,” Auston says hoarsely.

Mitchell gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Alright, this is it. Now or never. “So uh, I wanted to talk to you.” Mitchell cocks his head, looking curious, so Auston takes a deep breath and lets the words kind of...rush out.

“So I know we’ve been talking for a while now, over text I mean, and I think you’re one of my best friends and I wasn’t sure if you knew that I was like, that Auston, the one you’ve been talking to every night since I texted you right after finals last semester. Cause you kind of act like you don’t know me, and I’ve been going to Knights practices to watch you play since you talk so much about hockey, and I’ve been to a few home games this semester, and you’re really good. Um, I guess I just wanted to say I really like you and I’m glad Connor introduced me to you, but I didn’t know what to do cause you’re nice but you’re also kinda hard to read in person so I couldn’t figure you out. And...yeah.”

Okay, so the word-vomit isn’t quite what Auston was aiming for, and from the confused, slightly overwhelmed look on Mitchell’s face, it wasn’t what he was expecting either.

“Uh, I don’t have your number,” Mitchell says slowly. “We haven’t texted like, ever. I think you have me mixed up with someone else?”

“Um,” Auston says and then thinks about how he can recover his chill from this. There aren’t a lot of options besides murdering Mitchell or dropping out of college to become a desert farmer.

“I think you might have me confused with Marner,” Mitchell says.

“Marner?”

“Yeah.” Mitchell nods. “Marns. Mitch Marner. He’s best friends with Connor McDavid.”

 _Marns_. Cute number 93 from the hockey team, who Auston’s been talking to during every Knights practice. Of course, if there was anyone else who had to be involved, it would be him.

“His name is Mitch?” Auston asks faintly.

Mitchell nods again, his brows still drawn together in confusion.

The professor walks in at that moment, and Auston thankfully has an excuse to not look at Mitchell for the rest of class.

 

 

Mitch—Mitchell, Marns, whatever he’s supposed to be called—doesn’t pick up.

Auston hasn’t ever tried _calling_ him, cause who the fuck calls people these days when you can text them instead. But he figures for something like this, calling is better.

He doesn’t pick up the second time either, and Auston really considers calling a third time before shooting off a text. It’s probably best that Mitch didn’t pick up. Auston’s not sure his voice would be steady enough to be understood anyway.

_i’m free tomorrow can we meet?_

He pauses for a second before sending a second text.

_sorry for being a dick_

Mitch gets back to him four hours later. _ok after practice? meet me in the rink_

Auston is agreeing before his brain even catches up. _yeah for sure_

 

 

Knights practice is hella weird.

Well, to be honest, Auston misses the practice. He hangs around outside the rink for like twenty minutes before he goes inside, and he never even makes it to the stands, staying in the lobby and avoiding the suspicious eyes of any staff member wandering around. Hockey players start trickling out of the locker room in ones and twos, and Auston hangs back and fidgets.

Mitchell—Stephens, that is—comes out and makes eye contact with Auston from across the lobby. He does a complicated series of arm flapping movements and chin-jerking at the door of the locker room before giving him an exaggerated thumbs up and leaving. Auston isn’t sure what that means, but he appreciates the support anyway.

Marns, Mitch, is one of the last people out. He takes like, _forever_ to show up. It’s pretty unnerving.

“Hey,” Mitch says, when he finally comes out with Connor.

Connor gives Auston a long, deep stare before leaving him and Mitch alone. Connor McDavid is kind of in the habit of giving people long, deep stares though, so Auston isn’t sure if that’s supposed to mean something.

“Hi,” Auston says. After pouring out all his feelings to Mitchell yesterday, he suddenly doesn’t know what to tell Mitch.

“So,” Mitch says slowly.

“Uh,” Auston replies, because he’s brilliant. Mitch waits, twitching a little. Auston wills himself not to fidget, and he thinks he’s pretty successful. “Sorry I was being weird,” he blurts out.

“Okay,” Mitch says.

“Okay,” Auston says.

There’s another awkward pause, and then Mitch makes a move to go outside, and Auston falls in step beside him.

“I’m glad we’re finally meeting like, for real. When I’m not in the middle of practice.”

Auston feels suddenly guilty. “Right. So uh, I thought I met you before. In my metrics class.”

Mitch stops walking.

“I sit next to another Mitch—Mitchell Stephens, and he said he played hockey on the Knights so I thought...you know…”

“Oh my god,” Mitch says, wheezing a little. “You thought I was Stephens!” It sounds like an accusation.

“Kind of? Well I didn’t think there would be more than one Mitchell on the team,” he points out.

“You didn’t just ask?”

Of course Auston could’ve. He could’ve been not completely stupid and at least mentioned to Mitchell that they were texting, and then Mitchell would’ve straightened things out. But Auston is trying to come out of this with a little dignity left, so he doesn’t mention that.

“It was kind of stupid, I know.”

“Oh my god,” Mitch says again, and then he’s giggling, leaning on Auston a bit. He’s a warm, heavy weight against his side, and Auston feels his stomach do one of those flips it’s perfected whenever he’s around Mitch. “You were totally being too cool to ask, weren’t you.”

“Shut up,” Auston says on reflex, and Mitch only laughs harder. It’s difficult not to join him a little.

“Seriously though,” he says after a while, “I’m glad it’s you. That you’re the Mitch I was talking to, I mean. I’m not—Mitchell Stephens is nice, he’s real nice, but we never clicked when I talked to him. Not like it clicked when I talked to you.” He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’m not into him.”

Mitch smiles at him, eyes bright. His face is a little pink, and he bumps Auston’s shoulder with his own. “Not into _him_ , eh?”

“Nah. It didn’t feel the same. Not like—” Auston breaks off, shakes his head, grinning ruefully.

“Come on, you need to finish that sentence,” Mitch says, and he bumps Auston again.

“You know what I mean! When we talk, you know.” He gestures vaguely, trying to encompass the feeling of knowing Mitch, of knowing what would make him laugh, what to text him, what to say to him between shifts at practice. The way Auston wakes up knowing what song is stuck in Mitch’s head, what Mitch’s favorite color Skittle is, how Mitch will react to Auston’s commentary on the Leafs game last night.

“Yeah, I know.” Mitch says softly. “Me too.”

He turns to face Auston, twirls his finger around one of the laces on Auston’s hoodie, and then leans up and in and kisses him, feather-light and deceptively gentle. It’s not at all what Auston was expecting, but it feels nice, and it’s Mitch, so of course Auston circles his hands around his waist and pulls him closer.

Mitch pulls back after a long moment, staring at Auston in wonder. “Wait, you’ve never heard me sing Bon Jovi,” he says, as if amazed.

Auston blinks. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says with all the confidence of someone who is either really really good or really really awful.

“Right,” Auston says doubtfully, but Mitch is kissing him again, harder this time, more intent and possessive.

They probably shouldn’t be making out in the lobby of the rink though, so Auston reluctantly pulls away and holds Mitch still when he tries to come back for another go. “Don’t you have class or something?”

“Yeah, but it’s an easy one. I can skip. Let’s go to your room.”

It’s a horribly tempting idea. Zach isn’t there, won’t be back for hours probably, and he spends half his nights bunking with Dylan anyway. They could.

“And you need to tell me all about how you thought I was Stephens,” Mitch adds. “I need to know everything.”

“There’s not much to say,” Auston says, aiming for a neutral tone as he heads for the doors, but Mitch is needling him about it now, somehow sounding exactly like he does when he’s teasing Auston by sending ten text messages in a row instead of waiting to hit send. It’s shockingly easy to fall into a back-and-forth with him. It feels like—like pieces falling into place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You and Marns, huh,” Mitchell Stephens says the next time they’re in class together.

“Yeah,” Auston says.

“So were you flirting with me all semester?” Mitchell wags his eyebrows and laughs.

It turns out that Mitchell Stephens is kind of an asshole too.

**Author's Note:**

> I threw this together in like 48 hours and it wasn't supposed to be more than one scene but Auston doesn't know how to use his words so. Also this is like 95% an excuse to write about my boy Mitchell Stephens.


End file.
